


I Thought I Could Live Without You

by consulting_ravenclaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_ravenclaw/pseuds/consulting_ravenclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock finally get their relationship to a point where it is seen as normal, and all is perfect in their lives. Until one mistake from Sherlock messes up everything he's ever wanted and worked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fanfiction, rewritten from a version on my Wattpad account @shrrlocked .
> 
> Please leave feedback and advice on how to improve my writing.

   It's quiet, so dreadfully peaceful. So  _hateful._ Ugh, how does anyone stand it... when I'm deducing it is necessary, but other than that, it's completely distracting. It's not like I don't even have a case to work on. Currently I'm working on a triple murder that Gavin's let me in on. No... wait... Graham? Gary? Not important... 

   I'm trying to think about the case... It's simple really, but I  can't concentrate. I have something - or rather someone - else on my mind. John.

   The feelings were there from the beginning, but we were oblivious to them. They were clear as day to everyone else though, with the exception of Molly. Her obsession with me is entirely ridiculous, as it was well-known by all including me that I was almost definite that I was asexual. Now I'm gay, and she's still hooked on me. 

   Everything about him intrigued me; his eyes, as soft as a child's; the way he always cared about whether or not I'd eaten, as though it affected him in some way. 

   When I understood these emotions, it broke me slightly, not literally of course. John appeared to be, well, normal. Orientated towards women, and there was nothing to indicate otherwise.

   Normally multiple murders would push everything else out of my mind, but a memory of John overruns everything at the moment. It's one of the memories I wish I could remember more. 

    ** _*flashback*_**

_"Remind me why we're doing this?" I ask John as we clamber out the back of the taxi and onto the pavement. "It's just going to be us sat there making poor excuses for conversation whilst Molly and her boyfriend stare at each other continuously for no reason."_

_John stops walking towards the pub and looks at me. "Molly's bringing a boyfriend?"_

_"Yeah, Greg I think she said."_

_John just laughs and says: "Greg is not Molly's boyfriend... Have you still not learnt that Greg is Lestrade?"_

_I feel myself blush from embarrassment and head inside mumbling to myself about getting this over with._

_After a few hours, in which myself and John manage to become intoxicated, Molly and Greg put us both in a cab back to Baker Street._

_By the time we get back, I have sobered up enough to locate the lock on the door, get us both up the stairs and make us some coffee - John's without sugar. I take it to him in my room (he didn't want to climb any more stairs)._

_He's sat on the bed, his tired eyes trailing my feet as I cross the room. I place both of our patterned coffee mugs on my beside table, before lowering myself onto the bed beside him._

_We both look up at the same time, into each others eyes. His are big, soft. A brilliant mix of colours. There's nothing else in this world that matters more than the two of us at the moment. I lean in and press my lips against his, electricity sparking everywhere we touch._

_I suddenly pull back, realising what I have done, remembering that the man I love isn't gay, and that he will never love me back._

_And then he rams our mouths together._

*********

  I close my eyes at the memory. All of a sudden I am wistful, wanting desperately to feel John's lips on my own, instead of relying on the data in my memory. But that isn't possible.

   Right now, all I want to do is rewind the clock. Erase everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. Because despite what people might think, it has been the hardest time of my life.

*********

  It all started yesterday morning when I went on a case without John; Mycroft informed me that it was completely confidential and no-one could know of it - not even my boyfriend.

   I didn't intend to stay out as late as I did. When I got back, John was stood by the flat entrance, his hands balled by his side in rage. I was confused; he was livid because I had left early without leaving a note. I tried to explain that I had and Mrs Hudson had probably binned it by mistake, but he was having none of it.

   "Where have you been?" he yelled. "I have been frantically worrying all day and you couldn't find enough emotion in your ignorant brain to leave a word of warning."

   "John, I can-"

   "No! No excuses, not this time. I'm leaving, and I am not coming back until you decide you can let me know what you are doing." 

   With that he stormed out of the door, shutting me and Baker Street out of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the support! I really didn't think this would get a single bookmark or kudos, but it was only uploaded for just over twelve hours and 14 kudos!!! Wow...
> 
> Please leave feedback in the comments...

   Last night I couldn't sleep, as soon as John slammed that door in my face I went over to the sofa and just lay down. I've been here ever since. My head and heart aching, worrying about John, about us. 

   Judging by the position of the rays of sunlight coming through the window, it's about mid-morning, but I have no intention of getting up. 

   I don't know how much time passes, but I must fall into a deep, undisturbed slumber at some point, because the next thing I know, Mrs Hudson is shouting up the stairs to presumably announce the arrival of yet another idiot to grace our bloody flat. 

   I swing my legs off the sofa and stand up, having to regain my balance a bit before crossing the room to the door, prepared to start deducing our 'guest'.

   I am just about to open the door and invite them in when the door swings open on it's own, and stood there is the last person I want to see at the moment: my  _dear_ brother...

   He barges past me and sits down in an armchair - John's armchair. I wince. Normally I would order him out of the apartment, but I am just too tired.

   "So, Sherlock. Have we solved it yet?" he inquires.

   "Huh? What?" I say, my mind elsewhere.

   "The case?" he says, clearly checking me for signs of amnesia - the twat. "John's not here is he? It is still fully confidential, clear?"

   At the mention of John I tense up. I haven't cried yet, and the tears I've been holding back threaten to spill. There's only so long I can keep myself emotionless. However, I remember Mycroft is here, and there is no reason whatsoever that I would cry in front of my elder brother. 

   "Sherlock, what's wrong?" Mycroft's voice, despite his question, lacked concern.

    _For fucks sake,_ I think.  _Mycroft bloody saw that didn't he. Why does he have to notice every fucking little detail of everything. I'm not telling him a thing, he'll have to solve that mystery himself... or better yet, find John and get it off him._

   "It's..."  _nothing, say nothing,_ "John."  _So much for keeping it a secret Sherlock..._

   Just like that, I crack, and spill everything out to my unsupportive git of a brother. He knew of our relationship of course, but I tell him all about last night. About John getting cross because he didn't get my note. About him leaving. About everything...

   When I conclude my version of last night, I brace myself for a comment from Mycroft, something about the fact I was stupid to get into a relationship in the first place, and I know most relationships fizzle out in the end. 

   However, to my absolute astonishment, Mycroft comes over, pats me on the back, and leaves without saying a word.

   Only then did I start crying.

* * *

   I decide to head to Bart's the following day. Molly always said that she'll be there if I need someone other than my skull to confide in. Although she has been avoiding me and John recently - to my utter confusion.

   The door into the lab squeaks as I push it open. No-one's in the lab, so I take a seat on one of the less crowded worktops around the edge of the room. It looks as though Molly has been spending more and more time here lately; there isn't much mess anywhere. 

   For a while I just sit and think, trying to concentrate on my backlog of work. However my thoughts just keep trailing back in the same direction. John. I have to stop thinking about him, it's taking up too much of my time and effort... Mycroft's correct - caring is definitely not an advantage. I should never have got so attached; I didn't even take my own advice.

   I am suddenly aware that there is another presence in the room. I can smell Molly's perfume and see her shadow on the clinically spotless floor.

   "Sherlock?" she asks warily. "You okay?"

   I shrug my shoulders, yet another behavioral aspect that I have adopted from John. At least with Molly I won't have to hold back the tears; she's seen me vulnerable more than once, and another time won't matter.

   "What's wrong? Sherlock? Is it John?" I peel my gaze away from the floor for  a second to look at her, before dropping it back down. Somehow she always knows what's wrong. Emotions: they betray me. Since I met John she's been able to read me like a book. Not literally of course... that would be impossible, unless... nevermind.

   I shrug again. "We... we had a fight, and..."

   "And?" she prompts.

   At this point my guard comes down, and the words flow out in a torrent. "And he walked out. I'm worried Molly. What if he doesn't like me anymore? What if he never liked me, and I was an idiot?" 

   A solitary tear slides down my cheek as Molly makes her way over and sits on the shiny worktop beside me. I am vaguely aware of her arm wrapping itself around my shoulder and my body heaves with dry sobs.

   "He does still love you," she says

   "How are you sure?"

    She whispers her reply, but I still hear.

   "We look at you the same way."


End file.
